


Wherein Royston and Adamo become BFFs

by nerakrose



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Berhane has a cameo, Gen, Shenanigans, festivebastion, the sweet versity years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: Owen's rommmate has dragged him out in the middle of the night to break into the Dean's office.





	Wherein Royston and Adamo become BFFs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capncrystal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncrystal/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Crystal! :D of all your requests this one stood out to me the most, and since I've always wanted to write some Owen & Royston shenanigans, here we are. :D

"This is your _worst_ idea yet," Owen says. "It's worse even than that time you organised a naked flashmob to protest the 'inhumane' conditions of the food hall because they didn't serve honey with the tea." He took great care to make air quotes around the word 'inhumane', as if Royston could be in any doubt whatsoever about Owen's opinion.

"You wound me," Royston said. "Anyway, I thought you were going to say that time I grew sideburns. Those were dark times."

"A strong contender," Owen said. "Honestly, Roy. You could just _study_ instead of breaking into the Dean's office. There's still time."

"Not breaking into this office would greatly impede my plans with the professor in Elemental Science," Royston pointed out. "I need to play my cards right—"

Owen could give up on this argument, since it wasn't the first time they'd had it, and Royston had yet to show any inclination to actually stop sleeping with anyone (male) who so much as _breathed_ in his direction. "I thought you came to the Versity to cultivate your Talent," he said. "You know, actually _study_. And take exams _honestly_."

"I didn't come here to cultivate my Talent, I came here to be gay," Royston said. "Are you going to help me or not?"

They were standing directly below one of the windows to the Dean's office, specifically the rightmost window which never closed properly. The lights were off in the office, which was only natural since it was two in the morning. Owen was only awake because he'd been cramming for a psychology exam, and Royston was awake because he'd been out—probably shagging somebody—and had come back with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You're doing a marvellous job of it," Owen said, looking up at the window warily. "Being gay, I mean. One'd think you were naturally _talented_." He looked at Royston, who was looking casually disheveled (his current style), as if breaking and entering was to be done in fashion. "What'd you give up for it?"

"My heterosexuality," Royston answered. He was tugging gently at the ivy climbing the wall. "This isn't going to hold—give me a leg up? Put those muscles to use for once, will you?"

At least Royston wasn't asking _him_ to break into the office. "Whatever," he said and laced his fingers together to form a step for Royston.

Royston hoisted himself up, grabbing inelegantly at Owen's hair (he should probably get a haircut) and the vines, accidentally mashing his arse against Owen’s face and then almost kneeing him in the eye, until he got hold of the windowsill and stabilised himself. "Grab me my pocket knife? It's in my boot."

"With _what_?" Owen asked, incredulous and increasingly grumpy. "You are _standing_ on my _hands_."

“Right,” Royston said. “Hmm. I’ll have to stand on your shoulders.”

“Absolutely _not_.”

“Owen, what use are those formidably muscular shoulders if I’m not allowed to make use of them for a scant thirty seconds?”

“I’ll _drop_ you,” Owen threatened.

“You wouldn’t,” Royston argued, rather too carefree for a man whose balance rested in Owen’s hands. As if to prove himself right, he clambered up on Owen’s shoulders easy as you like, holding on to the windowsill for support.

“You’re ruining my shirt!” Owen protested.

“Some sacrifices have to be made.” Royston had managed to get his pocket knife out of his boot, and was now doing something to the window. “I’ll buy you a new one. One that doesn’t make me want to gauge my eyes out with scrap metal.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you offering?” Royston had managed to open the window. “We _are_ roommates, you know.”

“I’m not, and what’s that got to do with anything?”

Owen didn’t receive a reply, because suddenly Royston had hoisted himself through the window. There was a loud crash, followed by an “ow”. 

No alarms sounded, and nobody came running, so Owen whisper-yelled up through the window. “What are you _doing_?”

“There was a chair,” Royston replied. “It attacked me. Now shush.”

Owen could hear Royston rummaging about in there, and he had half a mind to yell at him about it. Eventually, Royston whooped and then appeared in the window. “Have you put everything back the way you found it?” Owen asked.

“I’m not a complete idiot,” Royston said. “Help me down.”

The descent was not as smooth as the ascent, and ended with Royston toppling both of them onto the dirty cobblestones. 

“Gross.” Royston tried to brush dirt off his trousers. 

“You’re telling me,” said Owen, who was still grumpy about his shirt, and now had what looked like horse manure on his trousers. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Royston had (thankfully?) not dropped the sheaf of papers he’d retrieved from the Dean’s office. He tucked them carefully into his shirt.

“All this for just an exam,” Owen muttered. “I’m never helping you cheat again.”

“Lies.” Royston brushed something off Owen’s back. “While I am very heartened to know that you’ll support me in whatever illicit schemes I might engage in, I’m not actually going to cheat on my exams.”

“Sell the information to people who _will_ cheat on exams?” Owen suggested.

Royston gave him a dirty look. “No. let’s get out of here, and I’ll show you.”

~*~

Safely back in their room, Royston declared Owen’s shirt and trousers salvageable (“Put it in with my laundry, the woman I go to has a magic touch”) and made coffee.

“What about tea?” Owen groused. The lack of sleep was really starting to get to him; the last thing he wanted was _coffee_.

“When you see this, you won’t _want_ to sleep,” Royston said and withdrew the papers he’d stolen from the Dean’s office. He spread them over his desk.

Despite himself, Owen _was_ curious about what those papers were, if they weren’t exam paperwork, so he went over to look.

They were reports.

Not just any kind of report either, they were _harassment_ reports.

Owen started going through them. The first one was a report for sexual harassment: ‘female student, 19’ reported a professor having made ‘inappropriate advances’ as well as ‘requested sexual favours in exchange for good marks’. The professor’s name wasn’t given, but the course he’d taught _was_. “Elemental Science,” Owen said. He leafed through the rest of the reports; they all had either the same course designation or another course taught by the same professor. The students' names weren't given either, but their student ID numbers were on the reports. Owen recognised a number on one of the more recent reports; it started with the same two numbers as his and Royston's, which meant this student had enrolled at the Versity the same year as they had. The third number was the same as Royston's, which meant that person was enrolled in the same major as he was—Owen realised that this person was likely Royston's classmate, and possibly the person who'd alerted him to the scumbag. Who was that girl Royston sometimes had lunch with? Berhane? Could this be her?

“Mmh,” Royston said smugly and handed Owen a cup of coffee. “So you see why I _had_ to break into the Dean’s office.”

“But—“ Owen considered the reports again. There were about fifteen reports, going back _years_. “This piece of garbage is still teaching,” he said. “The Dean has been ignoring the reports?”

“Not ignoring them so much as ‘accidentally’ misfiling them as ‘charitable givings’,” Royston said, nose wrinkled. “Those are filed with orange tabs. Like the ones in those reports.” He indicated the papers. “They’re bosom buddies, did you know? They were roommates—a well hidden secret, I had to really work for that one—and have been helping each other profit ever since, nominating and supporting each other and, as evidenced, covering up nasty business.”

Owen eyed the reports with distaste. “I trust that if I ever turn into a predator, you’ll blast my balls off instead of letting me get away with it.”

“Of course,” Royston said. 

“Good.” He sipped his coffee. Black as tar and with the kick of a horse. “So you weren’t actually going to sleep with him?”

Royston gave Owen a withering look. “I have _standards_ ,” he sniffed. “Besides, I don’t sleep with my professors.”

“Just TA’s,” Owen said. 

“That was _one_ time, and I was in _love_ , and I didn’t know he was a TA! He wasn't even _my_ TA!” Royston argued. “Anyway, I broke it off as soon as I found out.”

"Right," Owen said, dropping the papers onto the desk. "What do we do now?"

" _We?_ " Royston asked, delighted.

"We," Owen confirmed, already resigned to his fate. He'd help Royston get him fired, or whatever. 

" _You_ are my new best friend," Royston declared, and refilled Owen's cup. "Now, here's what I was planning."

~*~

"You're late," Royston said when Owen joined him outside the Versity café, the one by the west entrance. The Dean's office was on the other side of the building, but the only exit—the only moderately discreet exit—was the west entrance. 

And Royston had taken to camping out at this café, watching the west entrance for the past week. Owen had joined him when he could.

"I'm not late," Owen said, taking the chair on the other side of the little café table. "Being late would indicate an appointment." He hogged the teapot.

"How was your exam?"

"Over," Owen replied. "Is today the day?"

Royston pushed over a copy of the day's paper. The front page headline was _**DEAN COMPLICIT IN SEXUAL HARASSMENT SCANDAL**_. The rubric just below was even better: _In the investigation into the 'misfiled' harassment reports which led to the firing and subsequent arrest of a prominent professor, it has come to light that the Dean was instrumental in hushing up the cases. Multiple students have come forward with their stories since the reports leaked to the press, pressuring authorities to take action. It is unclear what action will be taken with regards to the Dean's continued employment, but the board is rumoured to have called an emergency meeting at the time of this edition going to print._

"It pains you that you aren't getting credit for any of this, isn't it?" Owen read the entire article, but there wasn't anything new buried within all the filler.

"Of course not," Royston said. "I'm only happy to see justice served."

Owen raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe just a little," Royston admitted. "Though I can't say I'd like to steal the spotlight from the ladies. They deserve the credit."

A group of students—all female, Owen noted, and upon further inspection, some looked too old to still be students—approached the café. A curly-haired blonde girl at the front of the group that Owen vaguely recognised as Royston's occasional lunch buddy gave them a wave. 

They were a grim looking group, Owen thought, as he watched them settle down at the tables on the other side of the door, even if some of them were smiling. There was something feral in those smiles, something _dangerous_. 

"Oh, there we go," Royston whispered sharply, and Owen's head whipped around to look at the west entrance.

It was the Dean. And not just the Dean, the entire board was there, and some of the Provost's men, though the Dean didn't seem to be in handcuffs. He had been stripped of his cape, however, and Owen didn't spy the large gold chain around his neck either, the one that held the Dean's Seal of Office.

From the back of the group another person stepped forwards: the Rector. She was a formidable woman, tall and silver-haired, in her purple cape and brandishing a silver walking stick. Owen couldn't hear what she was saying to the Dean, but he saw her lift the stick as if in a warning, and then—without warning—she slapped him. With her hand, not the stick. 

The women at the other tables let out a loud cheer.

Royston turned to Owen. "Worth it," he said, as smug as a cat. He made to pour himself more tea, but Owen had emptied the pot. "Oh, for the love of—you still owe me ten pennies for the dry cleaning, you know."

"Not on your life," Owen returned and slurped down what was left in his cup.


End file.
